Cloudwalkers

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Mrs. Romano and Aurora exchanged a nervous glance. “Dear, the deacon’s reach goes well beyond Midtown, as it has for years now. Simply moving past the ramparts will not keep you safe.”

  “Then I’ll take her to Jersey City,” Conn said.

  Mrs. Romano looked at him as if for the first time. Her gaze was appraising, and a little suspicious. “You’d do that? For a Grounder girl you hardly know?”

  Misty watched the young man turn his gaze back on her. That crooked smile of his reappeared again. She felt none of the annoyance she’d felt when he grinned at her earlier, only reassurance. He shrugged. “Aye. Brig, here, and I will find a way. Get her and her mum to someplace safe. You can count on that.”

  “Well, you’ll stay here tonight,” insisted Mrs. Romano. “We’ll get you fed and into a proper change of clothes. Get you on your way first thing in the morning, before dawn prayers.” Mrs. Romano looked at Conn and then at Brig. “I may have some more appropriate clothes for you, from when Ben or Randy were your size. As for you, Conn, well, Mr. Romano is a good bit shorter, but—”

  “Thank you, sincerely, Ma’am. But no, I must wear my kilt and blouse.”

  “You do know, you stand out like a beacon in the dark,” Aurora told him. “All those bright colors, you’ll be spotted from a mile away.”

  “I’ve already tried,” said Misty. “He won’t budge on the kilt. I think they live by some sort of honor code. The way Cloudwalkers dress is a part of all that.” Both Mrs. Romano and Aurora looked at her questioningly. She knew what they were thinking: How does a young Grounder girl know so much about the ways of Skylanders and Cloudwalkers?

  Chapter 25

  They didn’t spend the night at the Romano’s grotto. Conn knew they would need the cover of night if they were to have any chance of getting past the deacon’s men and finding Misty’s mother.

  Brig was wearing a T-shirt that once belonged to Ben, and trousers that once belonged to Randy. Both were of a dark, heavy material, but they fit the boy far better than the rags he had been wearing. Conn figured this was the first time, probably, that Brig wasn’t wearing high-water trousers, or a shirt not totally vented with holes, and then briefly considered the fact that he’d never thought to offer the boy any of his own hand-me-downs. Conn did relent to wearing a long coat that had once belonged to Mr. Romano. Although it didn’t completely cover his bare legs it almost did. It would have to do.

  “How sure are you that you know where we’re going?” Conn asked Brig as they exited the now-familiar stairwell at street-level on 34th Street.

  “Very sure. I’ve already told you that.”

  “Is it far?” Misty asked, clutching a drawstring satchel to her chest. It was filled with her clothing items, and the food Mrs. Romano had kindly given them to eat.

  “Nah,” said Brig confidently. “Thirty minutes, if we don’t dawdle.”

  They kept to the shadows as much as possible, with Brig leading the way. Sometimes jogging along, and sometimes walking fast, they often needed to stop to catch their breath. They changed their direction a number of times, first heading down some smaller street or alleyway, then heading a different way again. Conn was totally lost. He didn’t recognize any of the black, rubber-clad buildings beneath the cloudbank. He soon gave up on attempting to navigate and instead kept an occasional eye on Misty, trying not to be too obvious about it. Her jaw was set, a look of quiet determination on her face. She held that tote of hers so tightly to her chest, he wondered if it brought her a certain kind of comfort? Was she still desperately attempting to hold onto a life irrevocably stripped away from her?

  “You can stop doing that, “ she exclaimed, between heavy breaths.

  “Stop what?”

  “Checking on me every few seconds. It’s making me self-conscious. Just mind your own self. Let me be.”

  Conn did as asked, and the three hurried on in silence. It was more like an hour before they reached their intended destination. Conn had never been this close to any of the Midtown ramparts before. An ugly puke-green in color, the ramparts’ outer wall shone glossy with the coating of Ragoon sap that was used to protect it from acid rain. Conn looked up to see vertical ragged swaths of rust that looked like long streaks of dried blood. The wall loomed over them, some two-hundred-feet into the air. It seemed like a great foreboding dam, holding back an ominous angry sea. Beyond the enormous rampart, he mentally pictured grotesque, monstrous sea creatures lurking there, just waiting to feed. He knew, of course, that the sea was dead, and such envisioning wasn’t the case, but the freaky mental image stayed with him, anyway.

  Brig nudged him. “That’s it. That’s the deacon’s compound. And yes, for the hundredth time, I’m sure of it.”

  Conn tore his eyes away from the rampart wall and turned his gaze to the building standing in front of it. Stubby-looking, it was no more than five or six stories high. The rubber-shingle-clad structure was just as nondescript as most of the other Midtown buildings they’d passed. One defining aspect was that it stood isolated, alone on a city block. All the buildings bordering it had long since fallen to the ground. Above the cloudbank, an isolated building spelled despair and devastation for its occupants, but here, the deacon’s secluded lair looked foreboding, clearly meant to display power. It looked strangely out of place, as if it were purposely set apart, deliberately isolated. But the lots surrounding it were anything but bare. Multiple clusters of thickly trunked Ragoon trees rose up high into the air. Several even pierced the bottom of the cloudbank.

  “I don’t see any easy way in,” Misty started to say, but then four men emerged, exiting through a shingled door located on the building’s forward-facing facade. Each one wore a dark suit, a black ribbon bowtie, and a flat-brimmed hat. “Never mind,” she corrected.

  They quickly stepped back into the building’s recessed portico, where deep shadows partially hid their presence. Still in view, the deacon’s men crossed the street coming their way, holding up once they were on the sidewalk. Now a mere eight feet away, Conn’s right hand slowly found the paw of his rackstaff. Misty’s eyes, momentarily drawn to his quick movement, caught his eye and shook her head. She silently mouthed the words, “Don’t do it!”

  More men, five this time, exited the same building across the street. Fortunately, they didn’t cross the street, but instead headed east, going in the opposite direction. Conn kept his attention on the first four, standing near the corner. So close, it was easy to hear bits and pieces of what they were sharing. Of beatings, subsequently followed by the rapes of two young Grounder girls—sisters, no less. Apparently acting on their own initiative, they didn’t get permission to take things to such an extreme level. The three men, speaking just above a whisper, couldn’t afford the deacon to find out about their impulsive actions—but actions they were having no problem reminiscing, even bragging, about. Conn listened as they came to an easy decision. Both girls, along with their parents, had to be silenced—permanently. Conn could feel Misty’s eyes boring into him. Killing these sub-human Neanderthals would be the right thing to do. It was about honor—what the Cloudwalker’s code called him to do. But this was not his realm. Hell, he could spend an entire lifetime down here, attempting to right the many wrongs inflicted by such an uncivilized populace. He felt Misty’s firm handgrip on his arm—holding him steadfastly in place. Brig, Conn was sure, was far more cognizant of the seedy side of life down here than any ten-year-old boy should have to be. The boy watched and listened in silence.

  Once the deacon’s men progressed far enough away and were out of earshot, Conn said. “That way in is like a revolving door. No way we’d make it very far inside.

  “There’s a much better way,” said Brig. “Where we won’t be seen by any of the deacon’s goons. It’s below street-level. Come on!” Brig quickly headed back the same way they’d just come, with Conn and Misty following closely behind. Moments later, Brig suddenly stopped and looked back, his expression confused.

  “What ar
e you doing?” Conn hissed. “This is not the time to go all numpty on us, boy! The goons are all over around here.”

  “Hey, I’ve only been there once. There’s a narrow alleyway around here somewhere.”

  The three moved up and down the block, searching for the kind of landmark similar to what the boy described.

  “Are you talking about that . . . over there?” Misty asked, pointing a finger toward a mere crevice between two buildings across the street.

  Brig took two steps back. A thick Ragoon tree, growing in the middle of the multi-lane street, had blocked his view. Squinting his eyes, he assessed what was on the opposite side of the street. “Aye, I think that could be it.”

  Running together across the road, they slowed once they reached the sidewalk.

  “That’s no alleyway,” Conn said, peering through the narrow crevice between the two towering buildings. Rubber shingles were not affixed to either walled surface, so he could see the rotting, worn brick facades on both buildings. “I don’t know if I can squeeze through there.”

  “Sure, you can,” Brig said. “Turn sideways, and sidestep. Watch me.” The boy, clearly enjoying himself, made no attempt to hide his amusement. Being small and thin, he only needed to turn partially sideways before disappearing into the darkness. Within moments, only the sounds of his shuffling feet gave an indication where he was.

  “After you,” Conn said to Misty.

  She hesitated. “I don’t like this, not one bit.” She held her tote bag closer to her side as she slowly began sidestepping into the crevice.

  Conn gave her a few seconds head start before following after her. He quickly realized both buildings were so close together that he was unable to turn his head forward. Something dropped onto the top of his head. When it started to move, he knew it was probably a cockroach. He felt its little legs tickling the top of his scalp as it moved about, and tried not to panic. There were very few insects above the cloudbank, and they’d always creeped him out a little. Combing the fingers of his right hand through his hair, he flipped the bug away, but soon felt another one drop onto his shoulder. The roach, quickly scurrying inside his the back of his coat, scrambled between the collar of his shirt and the nape of his neck. Unable to easily get to it, the cockroach scurried around a while before settling between his shoulder blades. Conn stopped, unable to think of anything beyond the free-riding insect. Now, pressing his back flat, and firmly, up against the brick wall, he felt the crushing, squashing, of the cockroach. Shaking his shoulders, the roach’s carcass dropped freely from beneath the hem of his blouse. Continuing on, he heard nearly imperceptible sounds of Misty quiet sobbing. There were shuddered inhalations—followed by several quick sniffs. He’d forgotten what the poor girl was going through.

  It took another ten minutes before Conn stepped free of the oppressively tight space. Both Brig and Misty were waiting for him, standing within some sort of open courtyard. Rubber shingles, which had fallen off the rear of the buildings, lay strewn around the ground. In the middle of this courtyard space there was a raised patio, made from worn, rounded bricks. Heavily rusted and a bit off-kilter was an arched, wrought-iron arbor that curved overhead, below, the metal framework of two benches. Their wooden slats had disintegrated centuries ago.

  Misty said, “I can almost see it . . . once upon a time, people found respite here, away from bustling city life. It was like a mini hidden Shangri-La.” Standing quietly for a moment beneath the constantly falling rain, her face was now partially lit from the glow of the cloudbank above. She looked nostalgic for a past time she’d never known, but clearly wished she had.

  Three of the courtyard’s inward-facing buildings had steps leading down to a doorway just below ground level.

  “Okay, this next part is easier,” Brig said, though his eyes roved from one doorway to another, clearly indecisive.

  “Seriously?” Conn asked, feeling the skin on his face really starting to burn. He adjusted the hood of his jacket, trying to protect himself from the mist.

  “It’s this one.” Brig hurried over to the only door that still had most of its shingles, and down the steps he went. A second later he called up. “Aye, it’s this one. “Come on down!”

  Conn heard the squealing of an opening door’s rusted hinges as they followed after him. Brig was waiting, holding the door partially open. “Hold up there, Brig.” Conn came halfway down the steps, stopped, and turned. He looked up to Misty, “Give us a quick second.”

  Conn descended the rest of the steps. “We’re going the rest of the way on our own.”

  “No way!” Brig said. “Like you’d ken where to go, anyway. You need me to—”

  “What we need is help. You’re fast . . . a hell of a lot faster than I am. Go back and find Maggie and Toag . . . let them know what we’re doing and bring them back here. Can you do that for me?”

  Brig still looked ready to protest, but instead nodded his head.

  “Go now then.” Before Brig could turn to go, Conn placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, thank you.”

  The boy fled up the stairs and a moment later had disappeared into the night.

  Misty joined him at the door and led the way inside. They entered into a dark and musty-smelling dwelling. It may have been someone’s home or office—not visible enough inside to make the distinction. How Brig had known his way around a place like this was a mystery to Conn. He must spend nearly all of his free time exploring. The farther into the space they went, the darker and creepier it got. Conn was momentarily startled when he felt Misty’s hand reaching back and grabbing for his own. After two right turns, they descended steep stairs, its wooden treads wobbling and creaking beneath their feet. Firelight was coming from somewhere below—no doubt the flickering illumination of a torch. Apparently no longer frightened, Misty released Conn’s hand.

  They were obviously in a basement. Its surrounding gray slump-stone walls were cracked, gaping chunks of stone missing here and there. A massive space, spanning beneath multiple buildings perhaps, maybe even a whole city block

  Finally, they came to what had to be the farthest back section of the basement. Here, a lone torch flickered next to a hole in the slump-stone wall—a hole large enough for a person to pass through. A big sledgehammer lay propped against a nearby supporting beam. Mounds of rubble were piled on the floor.

  “I figure this hole leads right into the deacon’s compound,” Conn said.. “Into the adjoining building’s basement.”

  Conn peered in; it was pitch black. Turning to Misty, he said, “Grab me that torch, okay?”

  Misty struggled a bit to free the torch from the post it was attached to then handed it over to him. Together, this time with Conn in the lead, they stepped across what remained of the broken section of wall, and entered the basement of Deacon Terrence Lasher’s compound.

  Chapter 26

  Lili Folais found her father on the 63rd floor balcony, attending to his flock of caged pigeons in his bathrobe and slippers. Stacked four high in a U-shaped configuration, the rickety metal cages shook and rattled from the constant movement within them. While the adult pigeons relentlessly cooed, the babies endlessly snapped their wretched little beaks, hissing their demand for more and more dried Ragoon seeds.

  As far as Lili was concerned, the birds were little more than flying rodents. She detested the lot of them, though she had to admit a properly roasted squab, served with a nice chestnut-colored gravy wine sauce, was one of her favorite culinary delights.

  “Father?”

  The self-appointed CloudKing continued to pet the head of an exceedingly large carrier pigeon clutched tight to his abdomen. Gordon Folais made little kissing sounds as he stroked the plumed head.

  “Father, I’m not going anywhere. So you can stop pretending I’m not here, standing right in front of you.”

  The little man’s eyes looked up and found hers. “What is it now, daughter? Are you in need of a new gown? Or have the jewels that adorn your neck and wrist
s become tediously heavy?”

  Lili, giving him a snarky look back, said, “Janis’ funeral is today. Or have you forgotten?” She watched his eyes appraise her head-to-toe black apparel, including the delicate dark veil now resting atop the crown of her head. She’d pull it back down when covering her face would be more appropriate. She watched his expression change, his sadness return, and almost felt guilty for being the one to remind him of the loss of one of their own. But she grieved too, and why should he be able to forget so soon?

  She did not want to think about Janis right now.

  “What are you doing up here, anyway?” she asked her father.

  Gordon gave the pigeon several more affectionate pats before placing it back into its cage. He turned to face Lili, plunging a hand deep into a side pocket. Extracting a curled-up piece of paper, he held it up for her. “See this? This little insubstantial scrap of paper?”

  “You know I do,” she said, feigning boredom.

  “It changes everything.” He held it out at arm’s length so he could better read what was written on it, and continued, “They’re coming. As we speak, they are trudging across distant cloudbanks, coming home to us. And then Manhattan will tremble before our power.”

  “What madness now, Father, are you speaking of?” Lili rolled her eyes. “Never mind. You need to bathe; you reek after fondling those ridiculous birds. And then get dressed. The funeral service commences in less than two hours.”

  Gordon nodded, letting his arm drop to his side. Sadness returned to his face before it quickly brightened again. “There’s another kind of service you need to concern yourself with, child.”

  Lili allowed a bemused smile. She thought of Conn Brataich, the handsome broad-shouldered Cloudwalker with those alluring blue eyes. As far as arranged marriages went, it could be a lot worse. She held no illusions about falling in love with him, but she had fantasized about their wedding night. Lili was not inexperienced when it came to sex, and the thought of being with Conn excited her.